


The Power of Words

by emynn



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some words wound. Others heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of Words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt Brian/Justin + "I just really need to have you here right now."

Brian slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Drawing a deep breath, he leaned against the wall and stared up at the dingy ceiling. Christ, he needed a smoke, or a drink, or a…

“Brian.”

Not that.

He gritted his teeth and then forced himself to face his sister. “Claire.”

Claire adjusted her purse over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I said I would,” Brian said. Although already he was very much regretting keeping his word.

“I know.” Claire cleared her throat. “Did you bring your, um… your…”

“Partner?” Brian supplied. “No. He stayed in New York.” 

Not by his own accord, of course. Brian hadn’t even hung up the phone before Justin was packing his bag, preparing to come back to Pittsburgh with him. It was only after a fairly explosive argument and an extended period of stony silence, followed by a tentative reconciliation and a few soft words and gentle touches that Justin had finally agreed to stay put.

Besides, what the fuck would Justin even want to come back to Pittsburgh, for _this_ of all possible reasons, anyway? It was enough to make Brian want to rip off his own skin and jump in a vat of moonshine just being here. No sense in dragging _two_ people through this ninth circle of hell.

Claire nodded. “How was Mother?”

Brian shrugged. “Her same old charming self. Calling me every name under the sun, accused me of stealing from her to buy liquor, telling me I was going to burn in hell…”

“She’s been more… volatile lately.”

“Accused me of cheating on her.”

Claire blinked. “She thought you were Daddy?”

“Like I said,” Brian said, instinctively reaching for his cigarettes, “her same old charming self.”

“The doctors said that was a possibility,” Claire said. “She doesn’t recognize the boys at all.”

“Isn’t she lucky.” Brian tapped the box of cigarettes against the palm of his hand. It wasn’t the same, but it was all he could do right now, so it would have to be enough. But _Christ_ , what he wouldn’t give to be able to leap shouting from a cliff and scream as all the air escaped his lungs, his voice battling the wind as everything in the world came crashing down.

Claire looked up at the ceiling, then back at Brian. “How long are you staying?”

Brian shrugged. “How long does she have?”

“It’s hard to say,” Claire said. “The doctors don’t think it’ll be more than a week, but you know how Mother is.”

“The old bitch will probably outlive us all,” Brian muttered.

A small laugh escaped from Claire’s mouth, and Brian looked up, startled.

“Sorry,” Claire said. She paused. “Speaking of, Brian, I’ve been meaning to call you. I wanted to say --”

“I have to go,” Brian interrupted. He stuffed the cigarettes back into his pocket and zipped up his coat. 

Claire frowned. “But Brian --”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Brian said. “Call me if you hear from the lawyer.”

“But Brian! How could --” 

He made it as far as the parking lot. Somehow along the way Claire’s incredulous cries had morphed into Joan’s hateful ones. With each step he took, Joan’s words followed him, unfurling around him, ensnaring him with their searing grip, constricting around him until he couldn’t breathe.

_You lying, cheating bastard. I should have known. You never change. You never will._

_Worthless, pathetic ingrate. When I think of all I’ve done for you…_

_Why are you looking away? Look at me when I speak to you! Look at me!_

_You’re disgusting, just like all the rest of them. My own family. Betrayed me._

Brian smoked one cigarette, then another. He couldn’t even make sense of the words swirling about in his head anymore, or determine whether they were his recent memories of an Alzheimer’s-ridden Joan Kinney or old nightmares of the frigid bitch who raised him. It didn’t matter. They all had the same effect. Decades of hatred and disgust, chasing after him like some kind of demonic weed, coiling around him and choking him with their power.

He stamped out another cigarette, then dug the heels of his palms against his forehead. Christ, this was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic. His mother was wasting away in hospice care without even her mind intact, and here he was, a grown man, trying not to throw up in a parking lot.

_Brian, come on._

Brian shook his head.

_There’s no reason for you to go through this alone._

Brian blinked a few times, surprised to feel the unfamiliar burn of tears stinging his eyes.

_How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not a hardship. I **want** to do this._

Brian took several deep, shuddering breaths. He probably looked fucking ridiculous, falling to pieces while leaning up against some economy rental, but given it was all he could do to remain standing, he didn’t give a shit.

_I love you, Brian. And I want to be there for you._

Brian closed his eyes. He still mostly saw Joan lying against those starched white sheets, glaring at him with loathing in her eyes as she hurled insults at him, but if he concentrated hard enough, he could almost see Justin’s face. He could see him reaching for him, stroking his hair, caressing his face, concern but not pity ( _never_ pity) in his eyes, holding him close. 

Slowly, but with utmost certainty, Justin’s words held back Joan’s. Soft praise and reassurances of affection seeped through, wrapping themselves protectively around Brian. All that he had heard back in the room, all those memories that brief visit had drudged up, still threatened to suffocate him, but now he at least had an ally.

Someone he could trust. No matter what.

Brian drew another deep breath and pulled out his phone.

Justin answered on the first ring.

“Brian.”

“Hey, Sunshine.”

“How’s it going?”

That was Justin. Always giving Brian just enough room. Brian was grateful for it, to know he had a partner who would meet him where he was, to allow him to share only what he was able to share, with no judgment or condemnation, even if he wanted more.

But Brian heard Justin’s real question. And this time, he was going to answer it.

“I just…” He sighed. “I really need to have you here right now.”

There was a brief silence on the other line, and then the word Brian always knew he would hear, but still had trouble believing it would come so readily.

“Okay.”

When Brian finally hung up the phone, he saw he’d been on the phone with Justin for nearly twenty minutes. He was dimly aware that Justin had given him his flight information, had told him his bags were already packed, and told him when to expect him in Pittsburgh that night. 

But it wasn’t the words themselves that mattered. It was what they signified: that Brian was loved, that he was safe, and that he’d be okay.

Justin would be here soon.

And until then, Brian had his words to protect him.


End file.
